Bared

by Jill Shalvis

  “What do you want to happen?”

  “Everything,” she said honestly, and blinked when he choked out a laugh.

  “God, Emma.” He squeezed her fingers. “Do you have any idea what your honesty does to me?”

  “No, but I know what all these thoughts are doing to me.” She showed him the goose bumps on her arms, leaning back to do so, but noticed that his gaze landed on her breasts instead. Her nipples had responded to both his presence and her thoughts, pebbling hard against the material of her sweater as if begging for attention.

  Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was the look on his face, but the room started to spin. “Oh boy. I hope our food comes soon.”

  “Emma.” His voice was hoarse. “Tell me you aren’t too toasted for this, because I plan to slowly strip you so I can taste every single inch of you, something I can’t do if you’re tipsy.”

  “Why not?” She heard the wispy hopefulness in her voice. Later she could be horrified by that, but right now, with the room spinning feverishly and her body hot and achy, she couldn’t think that far.

  “Because I want you one hundred percent with me.”

  She eyed him as she tried to put words to her thoughts. “I had no idea you were so sweet.”

  “Would a ‘sweet’ guy ask you this…” Leaning in close, he put his mouth to her ear. “Why have you never come with a man before?”

  She pulled back and stared at him. “I…did at the pool. With you.”

  “Before that.”

  “Oh. I…”

  “Here you go,” said their waitress as she came toward them with their order. “Enjoy your meal. Anything else?”

  Rafe didn’t take his eyes off Emma. “No, thank you.”

  With a nod, she walked away.

  Rafe squeezed Emma’s fingers. “So, tell me. Why?”

  13

  EMMA OPENED HER MOUTH, then closed it. She didn’t have a ready answer.

  “Emma?”

  She picked up a french fry. “I’m thinking.”

  Instead of pushing as she’d expected, he leaned back and eyed his plate. “I can’t remember why I wanted food. All I want to eat is you.”

  Her fry fell from her fingers, her entire body quivering.

  He shot her a grim smile. He picked up her fry and brought it to her lips for her. When she sucked it into her mouth, he groaned.

  Because she loved the sound of his torture, because her body was pulsing and having all sorts of interesting reactions, she then sucked on his finger as well.

  He stared at her mouth while she did. “You’re teasing me.”

  “Am I?”

  “Yes. Is it so you don’t have to answer my question?”

  “Yes, could you pretend not to notice?”

  “If you don’t stop.”

  Feeling shameless, she slipped her foot out of her sandal beneath the table and rubbed his calf with her toes. The white tablecloth was thankfully long, covering her shenanigans. She lifted her leg and ran her toes up the inside of his thigh, settling them directly on the V of his jeans, smiling at his sharp intake of breath.

  Beneath the ball of her foot she could feel an extremely interesting response. When she pressed lightly, he let out an inarticulate noise and wrapped his hand around her ankle. “Two can play this game.” He let his other hand slip beneath the table, and since she had one leg virtually in his lap, now being held there by his firm grip on her ankle, that left her thighs wide open.

  Thank goodness they were in a cozy, round corner table, close together, because when she felt his fingers slip under the material of her wide, gauzy skirt, easily bunching it up as he skimmed his palm up her inner thigh, she gasped. “Rafe—”

  “That’s my name,” he said lightly, his knuckles barely brushing her panties in a light caress that sent her pulse racing. “So…about why you’ve never come with a man before…”

  “I—” He still had her ankle in his grip, and while she could have asked him to stop, she didn’t. She was wide open to his touch, vulnerable and unbearably aroused by it. “I like my control,” she said.

  “Control issues.” He nodded. “We all have them. But you, Emma—” Another light brush of his knuckles over her panties, which were quickly getting damp “—you’re a tight case. You don’t like people to get too close and I used to think maybe that was because you’d been hurt before, by a man. But now I think it’s because you’ve spent your entire life trying to please someone you’ll never be able to please.” He spread open his hand so that his fingertips rested extremely low on her belly, which left his thumb free. He glided it right over the spot designed to make her come undone.

  She nearly did.

  “What I find fascinating,” he said in that same conversational tone, as if they were discussing whether she wanted ketchup or mustard on her burger, “ is that you’ve never really managed to keep that control with me.”

  Nothing in her life had prepared her for this situation, for this man, for these feelings. But he was right. Always, at least up until now, she’d held people at a certain distance, even while at the same time craving some sort of emotional tie. Her mother, the men she’d dated here and there, even her sister. Maybe that was why she always saved Amber—it means she was in charge. An unsettling thought.

  And yet here she was at Lake Tahoe, alone with the one man who could take her hard-earned control and let it fly in the wind, sitting at a rather crowded restaurant with his hand under her skirt, his fingers stroking her halfway to orgasmic bliss.

  “Emma.” His index finger traced the edging of her panties, which she hoped to God weren’t plain white cotton. She couldn’t remember.

  “Y—yes?”

  “Why me?” Then that finger, the center of her universe, slipped beneath the elastic edging and once, just once, stroked over her bare flesh.

  “Um—” Another stroke, and her hips arched. “Rafe.” Blindly she reached for purchase, gripping the table, nearly upending their drinks. “I can’t think when you’re doing that.”

  “You came with me,” he said, and there was no mistaking the satisfaction in his rich voice.

  “That one time—”

  Another stroke of the knowing, talented finger. Then he slipped a second finger under her panties as well, using his thumb to twist the material away from her, leaving her open and exposed to his exploration. When he felt at how wet she was, he groaned.

  “You think I couldn’t help you come again?” he murmured.

  She stared at him. He hadn’t said he could make her come, which would imply he had all the control, but that he’d help.

  He wanted her to know she had the control, even if it didn’t feel like it at the moment.

  “I could,” he said softly as his fingers traced intimately over her.

  She had to blink rapidly to keep him in focus and, though she’d been biting her lip, every time he slid his finger into her and then back out, a little gasping pant escaped her lips.

  “You’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispered, and dipped into her again.

  As unbelievable as it seemed, he was right, he could help her come again, with such little effort that it should horrify her.

  Instead, she was only afraid he wouldn’t, that he’d somehow withhold it, leaving her like this, all trembling and aching and desperate, so she slid both her hands beneath the table, grasped his wrist and held his hand to her.

  “Oh, I’m going to give you what you want,” he promised her with such tenderness that she nearly burst into tears.

  But with one last pass of his thumb over her swollen, wet, hot flesh, he pulled his hand free. Unable to help herself, she let out a little cry. Bold in a way she never could have imagined herself, she reached out beneath the table, gripped his thigh and ran her hand up until she could cup his rigid erection through his jeans.

  He hissed in a breath and, without breaking eye contact with her, lifted his hand for the waitress and said, “Check, please.”

 
His voice was nearly gone. Beneath her hand, he was hard and pulsing with life. Holding her gaze he brought his first finger up to his lips, the one that had been inside her, and sucked it into his mouth.

  Her thighs clenched together.

  “Now I know what you taste like,” he murmured. “I want more, Emma.”

  The waitress came with their bill. Rafe tossed down some cash, then pulled her out of the restaurant into the hotel lobby.

  Her body was on high alert.

  “Upstairs?” he asked in a tight voice.

  “God, yes.”

  She couldn’t wait to get to one of their rooms and have him ease this ache between her legs, couldn’t wait to make him as crazy as he’d made her.

  They headed toward the front desk and the elevators beyond, and as they approached, the man already there turned to face them.

  Their pilot.

  He smiled in relief. “There you are. I felt so bad about what happened, I turned around and came right back for you. So…let’s hit it.”

  THE PLANE RIDE wasn’t as awkward as Emma might have imagined it would be. For one thing, she couldn’t keep her eyes open and, fight as she might to stay awake, she kept drifting off, only to jerk awake again when her head would fall forward.

  “Here.” Slipping his arm around her, Rafe eased her head onto his shoulder. “Better?”

  “Thank you,” she whispered, suddenly not quite as tired as she’d been a minute ago. Beneath her ear she could feel the steady beat of his heart. He ran his fingers up and down her arm in a caressing motion that had her sighing.

  “I’m sorry we were interrupted,” he said, his cheek against her hair. “Are you okay?”

  She would be. When she got home and into her own bed, when she could convince herself that she hadn’t really allowed him to touch her so intimately, that she hadn’t really been on the verge of an orgasm in a restaurant.

  Her eyes were closed to the dark, dark night as they flew down the middle of California. “I’m pretty sure I’ll have no problem being able to sum up the feelings I need for the script this week. I’m envisioning lots of heat and frustration and thwarted efforts, but then again, that’s what the research was for, right?”

  On her arms, his fingers went still. Beneath her cheek she felt his body tense.

  “Good,” he said, his voice just a little cool, and a little…sarcastic? “Glad to be of service, wouldn’t want any of the time we spent to go to waste.”

  She lifted her head and looked at him. But the only light in the plane was from the cockpit, so his face was in the shadows.

  “Go to sleep, Emma. It’s been a long day.”

  She didn’t have to see him to sense his distance, or the obvious fact that he didn’t intend to talk. Fine. No talking worked for her just fine. Besides, it wasn’t as if they were a couple. They’d made that perfectly clear.

  He wanted her physically.

  She wanted the same thing.

  End of story.

  So why sleep never came, why she lay there still and confused and a little sad, she had no idea.

  TWO DAYS LATER Rafe’s house was invaded by his family, who’d shown up with the makings of a barbecue and housewarming presents.

  Rafe stood in his kitchen, leaning against the island and nursing a beer, watching as Carolyn tried to boss Tessa into chopping the vegetables.

  But Tessa didn’t want to do anything other than smile at her husband, Reilly, who was looking pretty smitten himself.

  In the past, his sisters had always turned to Rafe for…well, everything, so it felt odd to not be needed anymore. Odd, but good. Now Reilly had to fix Tessa’s car when it needed fixing. Reilly had to get the big, black hairy spiders when she found them. And Rafe knew it had been Reilly who’d put that extremely satisfied smile on her face.

  Tessa found an excuse to brush by her husband, and tipped her face up in a silent demand for a kiss. When her husband instantly responded, Carolyn turned to Rafe with a roll of her eyes.

  “They’ve been married for months and they still can’t keep their hands off each other.”

  Rafe happened to know firsthand that you didn’t have to be married to someone to be unable to keep your hands to yourself. And though he’d tried not to, he thought of Emma.

  He hadn’t been able to keep his hands off her.

  She’d hurt him a few nights ago, though he was quite certain she didn’t understand why. Hell, he hardly understood. But one thing he did know—the more time he spent with her, the more he wanted.

  Emotional attachments scared her, and what they had together definitely fit the definition of emotional attachment.

  Or it could.

  If she’d let it.

  A fact that should have scared him but didn’t.

  “So when are you going to tell me what’s the matter?” Carolyn joined him against the island with her own drink and eyed the two oblivious lovebirds. “They driving you crazy?”

  “Nah. She deserves the happiness. And Reilly’s a good guy.”

  “True.” Carolyn sighed. “But it’d be nice to find that for myself.” She faced him. “And for you. Is that it? Is that what’s bugging you?”

  What was bothering him was a bad case of DSB—deadly sperm build-up. He took a long pull of his beer. “Maybe.”

  “So, get a woman. It can’t be difficult, they fall all over you regularly.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I want a woman who wants me. Not for how I make her look on film, or how I make her feel in the bedroom, but for me. I want a woman who puts our relationship before anything else.”

  “Don’t tell me you want her barefoot and pregnant, or I’ll have to smack you.”

  “No,” he said, but laughed. “I want her to have her own hopes and dreams and life, of course. I just want to be a big part of it. I want to be important to her.”

  “Oh, Rafe.” Her smile was sad as she cupped his cheek. “I never really pictured being surrounded by supermodels as tough—but you’re lonely, aren’t you?”

  He laughed again. “I’m not that bad off.”

  She hugged him hard, anyway. “I can see why you’d want a woman not quite so…ambitious as all the women you deal with.”

  “And I want her to want me whether I’m still taking pictures or working bagging groceries. You know, for better or worse.”

  Carolyn lay her head on his shoulder. “Have you met her yet?”

  Rafe thought of Emma. He knew she didn’t want him for how he made her look on film, but she did want him for how he made her feel physically.

  Could there be more?

  He thought of her workaholic lifestyle, how she seemed to want to be with him only when he was bringing her pleasure, and his stomach twisted a little.

  “No,” he said a little unevenly. “I haven’t met her yet.”

  RAFE WENT INTO THE STUDIO they’d rented for the next two shoots, both of which were indoors. First up, a schoolgirl shot, followed by a nurse shot—two of the most popular men’s fantasies, according to recent polls. And for the first time since Rafe had started this calendar, he hoped it was Amber who showed up.

  Amber, he could ignore.

  With Amber, he could avoid being sidetracked by any unwanted attraction.

  Amber, whom he could send home afterward and forget about.

  “We’re ready.” Stone had set up the lighting and cameras. “I figure if we do it right, we can get both these shoots today. What do you think?”

  What did he think? That he wished he was at home being bitched at by Puddles for more food, that he was working in his darkroom…anything. Hell, even pulling the weeds in the front yard would be better than this.

  Stone took one last look at their set, a mock-up of a school hallway, complete with lockers, and nodded. “I’ll go get her.”

  “You’ve seen her already, then?”

  Stone stopped and eyed his longtime friend. “Yes, as a matter of fac
t, I have. She’s in makeup with Jen.”

  “And…”

  Stone looked amused. “And what?”

  “Damn it, which one is she?”

  Stone looked him over for another moment. “Which one were you hoping for?”

  Rafe stared at him, then let out a breath. “I haven’t a frigging clue.”

  Now Stone grinned. “Sure you do. Amber is gorgeous, feisty, hot and a pain in the ass. She’s also possibly certifiable. But Emma…” He arched his brows. “Brains and looks. And while not a pain in the ass or certifiable, she scares you to death. So my guess would be, given the look in your eyes, you’re hoping for Amber.” He crossed his arms and cocked his head. “How am I doing?”

  Rafe turned away. “Just go get her.”

  Stone laughed. “Pretty good, I’m guessing.”

  Two minutes later he was back, with their model for the day. Rafe was turned away from them, messing with the camera that was already perfectly set up, and not until Stone called out “Ready” did he turn and look.

  Her long hair had been divided into two braids. She wore a white button-down shirt, crisply ironed and completely unbuttoned, revealing a white crop top beneath. Her black-and-white plaid skirt was wraparound and so short he couldn’t imagine it fully covered her butt in the back, but since he couldn’t see, he couldn’t be sure. She wore white knee socks, one pushed down, the other up to her knee, and black clunky boots. The epitome of the naughty schoolgirl.

  He’d avoided looking into her face, but he looked now, and his heart took one quick heavy kick.

  Emma.

  Stone’s pager went off. He looked down at the pager, took in the message and swore.

  Rafe jerked his head toward Stone, and at the look on his friend’s face, his stomach dropped. “No.”

  “Sorry, buddy.” Stone grimaced. “Crystal’s in labor. Gotta run.”

  Rafe knew Stone’s sister hadn’t planned the worst possible moment to go into labor on purpose, but the timing couldn’t have been more off. “But—”

  “I’ll call you,” Stone said, and he left.

  The door to the studio closing seemed extraordinarily loud.